To Give It Time- Sequel
by snapemartyr
Summary: Harry Potter continues to suffer underneath a plague that Voldemort has wreaked over him- he and Severus Snape must learn to work together in order to fight this dark omen, by using new spells and magic that the Order has never encountered. They must work against and enigma that they never even fathomed existed. Takes place after fifth year/No Slash/Please comment
1. Dark Omens

**A/N: The sequel is up- please drop some mail in my box and feed me with your beautiful thoughts and ideas! A big thank you to hazeldragon and oncecelestial being for their constant support. **

_**SM ~**_

**{Disclaimer: The originals of this belong to JKR}**

**A few brief reminders:**

**This story is slightly AU, and I will be taking and adding details from the original series as I see fit, so if you spot an error, that appears to be a mistake due to not looking at the original carefully enough, please note that it is, rather, an author's liberties, which can of course be seen as error, depending on the creative mind =)**

**This is not going to be a slash story.**

**Chapter 1 -**

_**Dark Omens ~ **_

The sky was dark and overcast. He didn't think that there was any way that it would clear itself, and it would certainly not- what could they possibly do about any of this? Harry Potter felt as though he was melting beneath a roaring flame, never mind the fact that the air was cold . . . he was freezing, actually. He glanced at Hermione, and noticed that her teeth were chattering. She huddled closer to Ron. The cavern was completely silent. Not a pin-drop could be heard. It was a long, hard and tiring day which they had undergone . . . yet, he didn't really think they had gone through it. Everything had been a dream. Shadowy and so terribly overcast. Something was wrong. He slid along the wet slab of stone on which he was sitting, pressing his fingers into the crevices, trying to figure out exactly what had caused them all to sit upon these dull pieces of rock, rocks that were so damp they- seeped into his skin. Harry burrowed his head into his arms. Would anything ever free him from the amount of guilt which plagued him everyday like a pile of thick, stringy moss, which would never bring him any peace?

It wasn't likely. But then, nothing was ever really likely, so he couldn't complain that much. It was a bit like . . . well, he didn't know. He didn't know about anything. Professor Dumbledore had spoken to everyone about the potential problems that they were likely to encounter while residing within this distanced abode, and yet Harry still could not bring himself to feel anything save for a sense of fervent danger, a furious strife that sliced through him and cut down all of his friends- each night in his dreams this is what he felt, and saw. He woke up sweating, and aching, with chills running up and down his spine. Wind whistled throughout the silent cavern now, creating something akin to howling wolves that were coming to ravage all of them.

"Are you alright, Harry?" It was Hermione. Across the room, Snape observed the four of them with a stony, but removed expression. He didn't know how to answer her. Eventually he said,

"Yes," dully.

"It's chilly in here," Ron muttered. The magically lit fire had died down for just a few minutes, yet no one had bothered to re-light it. Without speaking, Snape flicked his wand upward, causing the flames to roar back to life.

"Thank you," Hermione murmured. Upon his face was an orange glow that made him shine like a deathly omen, coming through the blackness to devour them. And then he moved back further into the shadows. "Professor?" She asked tentatively. His black eyes sought hers out through the gloom. Now the rain beyond the cave was thundering madly, forcing them to gather closer to the fire- everyone save for Snape.

"What is it, Granger?"

"I was just curious as to whether- Professor Dumbledore had told us that he would be back by the nighttime, but he isn't here."

"Obviously," he sneered. She lowered her head a little, as Ron glared at Snape reproachfully. He stared at them across the room for a minute. "I do not know where the headmaster has gone," he said through extremely tight lips, now looking off in the other direction.

"Sir . . . did he say what his mission was concerning?" Harry asked while he tossed glances at Ron and Hermione as though he were trying to silently communicate with them. Hermione's eyes became a bit sharper as she observed the potions professor more closely. Snape was examining his fingers with some amount of interest.

"The only information that I gleaned from the headmaster was that he was seeking another source in which is located red magic. He did not say anything else to me." Harry had the impression that he regretted this. He saw that Hermione was watching them both curiously, and he thought that Snape noticed it too, for he refrained from saying anything else to him. Harry scooted towards the fire closer to his friends.

It was so warm in his current spot that he didn't even realize that he had his hand tucked underneath Ron's pant leg, until he looked up at him with raised eyebrows. Harry, immediately becoming aware of his proximity to his friend, blushed to the root of his hair and moved away quickly, while Ron shifted as well, uneasily. Across from them, Snape said snidely,

"Shall I place protective space charms upon the three of you, in addition to charming the magical fire?" Now utterly humiliated, and, Harry was sure, his friends were as well as he was, they all scooted even a little further away from each other. Suddenly, Hermione burst out,

"This is ridiculous! Professor, we weren't doing anything crass. Harry just-"

"Hermione," Harry and Ron groaned in unison. The corner of the right side of Snape's mouth quirked upward, though Harry had no inkling as to what this could mean. A minute later however, his white pallid face was again cold, and implacable. In fact, he thought he could detect a slight trace of anger in it-

"You need to occlude Potter," he said in a low murmur, almost hissing. Harry was growing weary of all of the whispers. He almost wished that Snape would start yelling so that he could hear something other than the dripping water in the cavern.

"I can't occlude," he shot back, after gathering his courage. The potions master simply stared at him. They refused to break eye contact with each other, until, very slowly, Harry finally lowered his head.

"Alright." Ron and Hermione exchanged incredulous glances. Neither of them had any inkling as to what had actually just taken place.

"One," Snape whispered in a venomous snarl, that sounded like a lethal snake driving its venom through his veins, making him shiver again, "two- three._ Legilimens!" _Harry's mind was assaulted with a ferocity that he had never imagined, and it was so painful that it made his head begin to pound. Snape was attacking him, with a vigor that was so strong that it erased any time spent with the potions master previously in their practice sessions- he had never been so brutal, or so forceful. The images that swam in front of his eyes were brought to life, and he could practically reach out and touch Sirius as he gave him a one-armed hug at Grimmauld Place, a few days after Christmas- that was the time at which Mr. Weasely had been attacked by the snake he had seen in his nightmare. After what seemed to be only a few seconds of this, a new vision plagued his eyes and made them ooze with pain- the eye sockets were quite probably blown. Something was tearing at his head, and he was seeing spots, because Sirius was looking at him, right before his fall . . . and now he heard his mother screaming.

_"No, not Harry, please not Harry!"_

_ "Stand aside, silly girl, stand aside. Stand aside, now."_

_ "No! Please- take me instead!"_

_ "This is your last warning . . . "_

_ "No!"_

_ "Avada Kedavra!"_

And suddenly, as soon as it had started, everything was over. Harry was lying upon the hard, wet ground, with no notion as to how he had arrived there- he was floating upon mere space for several moments. He could hear a couple of voices, intermingling with each other, vaguely, far into the distance, but he had no ideas as to what the message they were trying to convey was- was there any such thing as messages? Perhaps they were merely the imprints which belong to ghosts. And then his right shoulder was lifted, a steely hand clamped down upon his arm. He really should be more accustomed to gnarly jagged nails that bit into his flesh with- what was the phrase that Snape used? _Sufficient ease . . ._

"Come on. Get up, Potter." He shook his head, so slowly that it seemed to hurt it even more. The act made him feel as if his head was actually positioned upon his spinal cord, more in the fashion of a bridge, one that was broken. It was about to break.

"Come on, Potter. Harry . . . " He blinked. He knew that voice. But, Snape wasn't actually calling him- ?

"You're calling me Harry," he said hoarsely. There was a dry cough, very slight, as though it didn't want to be recognized as a cough.

"Yes, well. Stop acting as though you are an utter imbecile then, and get up, Potter." He swallowed over a wad of cotton that had somehow lodged itself into his throat, and stared up at Snape's oblique, solid dark eyes. A mass of orange hair and bushy brown tendrils were swarming somewhere above his head. His put his arms over his eyes and muttered to Ron,

"Your hair's too bright." His friend chuckled, but it wasn't a comforting, light laugh- there was nothing gay about this environment, or the circumstance. He heard Hermione ask Snape why he had done it, sounding absolutely livid, and that, he mused to himself through his daze, might have been worth the effort, in days that were a bit brighter . . .

"How dare you! What were you thinking? Professor Snape, Harry hasn't been seeing- " Harry waved a hand up in front of her face to stall her, keeping the other one over his eyelids to block out any streaming light.

"No, Hermione, you're wrong about that, actually- " He took a deep breath. "I see visions constantly. I-I think Voldemort has infiltrated my head." There was a pause. He thought he felt, rather than witnessed the potions master straighten.

"Do you have anything else to add, Ms. Granger?" he asked in her in an odd, heavily ironic, and cynical sneer. When she didn't say anything, he added, "perhaps Mr. Potter can fill you in on the details, then." Then he waved his wand and muttered a complicated spell. The pounding in Harry's head immediately was lifted.

"Thanks," he said. Snape had already crossed to the other side of the dark cavern.

"Hey- would you guys- help me up?" As they both reached an arm out to attend him, Harry could feel the strain of his previous dark mind fade away, and he wondered at this current moment how he could have felt so strangely heavy and so melancholy, just moments ago. He hadn't even realized what had happened, or that he hadn't been occluding. He chanced to open his eyes as his friends drug him over to the wall opposite of Snape, where they had previously been sitting together before Snape had stoked the fire back into its short life (short because it had died down, yet again, into only a few charred, sticks-) and attempted to prop him up. Harry made a furious effort to hold himself upright. He could feel beads of sweat trickling down his forehead.

"Thanks," he forced out, his voice still sounding raspy.

"No worries, mate," Ron answered, his brow furrowed in consternation as he watched him closely. He felt as though he were being x-rayed by the two of them.

"I'm- fine," he said shakily, wiping his sleeve across his temple. "It happens once in awhile."

"Has this been happening the whole time we were separated, Harry?" Hermione asked him. He stayed silent, wondering whether he should answer her, but, she, being who she was, easily guessed the answer.

"Oh, Harry, that's dreadful," she said, sounding as though someone had died, "I wish that we had known."

"There's nothing that you can do," he said, a bit harshly. "In fact, I probably shouldn't even be here endangering all of you, what with Lord Voldemort always trying to get into my head and all."

"Potter, enough of that!" Snape spat at him. "If you dare," he said slowly, "put another toe out of line, I will force-feed you right into the Dark Lord's clutches." Harry chuckled darkly.

"No . . . I doubt that you would." Snape's face turned sour. Hermione's attention was on Professor Snape now.

"I'm- erm- sorry that I yelled at you, Professor," she said sheepishly, "I didn't know. Does Harry have these visions often?"

"All of the time, Ms. Granger," he sneered. "He needs to keep me around. I seem to be a fortunate stroke of luck where Potter is concerned, to make sure that he stays out of his own mind when he cannot practice Occlumency," this last bit was directed towards Harry. Snape was now pointedly looking at him. He thought he could detect anger beneath his neutrality. And, the worst part about it was, of course, that he was absolutely right. Harry _should _have been occluding.

"Well," Ron said lowly, "it won't do any good to talk about it. After all, it's obvious that there's nothing Harry can do." But of course Ron was not totally correct . . .

"Enough of this," Snape snarled, causing Ron and Hermione to look away from Harry once again. "No doubt the headmaster will be back soon, and the three of you- " But he did not get any further, for at that instant the cave alighted with a red flame that encircled the space in which they were forming a scattered semi-circle, with Snape on one side. The fiery spectacle swiftly turned green, and there was a current that swam around them in a green, loping arc for several minutes. Then, abruptly, it turned black. In the deathly light of the cavern Harry could see Snape's eyes widen marginally, through the pale, almost sickly glow that the lights had shimmered into, even though the light was gray now- it looked sick. Snape's eyes were beautiful in comparison, because the dancing blacks were so lively.

And then everything ended. All of Harry's thoughts came to a stop. He could no longer see anything, as the light completely diminished. He felt the tension in the room build to a point that he could not comprehend, until a physical, solid form of some kind was on the ground between all of them, which was oddly poignant, in spite of the fact that there was no longer any light available for them by which to see it. Perhaps this was due to the fact that whatever it was moved in an undulating way, a fact that immediately set Harry upon his guard. A snake had materialized between them. Ron and Hermione immediately drew closer together, and Harry, watching the undulating process with a sick feeling, quickly threw himself in front of both of them and shoved them back into the wall. Snape said in a loud, harsh tone,

"Don't move!" None of them thought that it would be prudent to obey his instructions of course, so they were extremely careful not to make even the simplest movement. In the shadow of the setting, the potions master raised his billowing-robed arm about, while the rain outside the cave slashed furiously from Harry's point of view directly across from the entrance. He looked like a dementor that had just glided in out from the cold. Harry watched his lips move in the pale, sick, germ-ridden light that made him want to be sick, that portrayed this vision of the long, black snake. Snape whispered an incantation quietly. The animal acted as though it were stunned, for a minute, and simply cocked its large head at Snape like an anvil. Then, slowly, as though it were in a dream of some kind, Seraphina coiled up, as though it were dazed, or tired, and drew its length in- it might have been sleeping.

"Is it dead?" Hermione whispered, sounding a little awed.

"No," Snape answered, his tone cold and distant, "it is likely that the animal will wake in a few moments. There is no spell that will allow it to be killed, because the Dark Lord has placed enchantments around the snake's body that no one but he can penetrate. He does not willfully give out information that he enjoys keeping to himself," he said in a scathing tone of voice. Harry thought he heard Ron gulp.

"Makes- makes sense, I suppose," said the redhead. Snape sneered at him. "You are eloquent as ever Weasely." Hermione looked a little pale. Her eyes still fashioned upon the snake, she asked,

"How long do we have?"

"Not more than ten minutes," he said, in a voice that made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up like little knives- there was something creepy about the way they tickled his neck. Slowly he turned around. "There's- " Before he knew it, a wand tip was thrust into his chest, on the left side, right upon where his heart was beating- it threatened to burst from him with its rapid thudding that would not grant to him any peace. Several things happened at once in quick succession. Snape snarled,

"Lucius," as Hermione and Ron both cried, "stupefy!" in unison. A body fell into the air, and went towards the ground with a strange, eerie movement, like it was flying away peacefully from the conflict of battle. Mr. Malfoy's pale face glowed in the moonlight of the cavern, his hair streaming around an expression of babyish serenity. It was as though he were in a deep sleep. Harry looked up at his friends with awe, but Hermione had a look torrid determination on her face, and he felt as though he was missing something. That is, until Snape said with an urgency that was foreign streaming out from his white lips,

"We need to leave now. The Dark Lord and his bidders will be here shortly." He did not spare Mr. Malfoy but a glance, and Harry instinctively moved closer to Ron and Hermione, trying to ignore his heart, as it beat. He thought that he heard Seraphina stir. He threw over his shoulder though,

"Nice one."

"It was all Hermione's doing. If she hadn't- " But she said,

"Hush," and Snape continued waving his black wand in some kind of an arc that was extremely and ominously complicated over a piece of stone that he had picked up, holding it upward in his long, clutching fingers. He watched the stone is it glowed, closely. It became blue and then red, before the colors died away and vanished. He extended his other hand towards them, slowly.

"Come," he ordered harshly. They obeyed him without any further ado. Just as they were all about to reach for the portkey, Harry asked his friends,

"Wait- you don't have anything that you need to take do you?" They both shook their heads. Snape was now glaring at him with two spirits of raging black fire.

"Sorry," he muttered. They all reached out, and then, at the touch of a finger, everyone was sailing away . . .

They landed in a clearing somewhere that was completely bereft of anything except for- what appeared to be a hanging cliff. The wind was howling about them with a biting chill sailing through its fury, causing the four of them to immediately wrap their clothes, or their arms, respectively, more tightly about themselves.

"Where are we?" Ron yelled above the noise. The lapping wind was now complimented by the lapping of waves somewhere beneath them, and Harry followed it to the edge of the clearing, which almost instantly drew downward into an enormous drop that must have dipped down to a sea about a hundred yards below. Granite rock cliffs twined about the water, which smacked the sides with the ferocity of ravenous hungry wolves- Harry shivered and drew back- yet they were all shivering in an odd depiction of unity. If anyone stumbled upon them they surely must look . . .

"Where's the Dark Lord?" Harry yelled. Although at the moment he couldn't remember why exactly, he had an inkling that it would not be a good idea to say Voldemort's name . . . he suddenly had a flashback to the time that he had said the name aloud at Odgen's place . . . what had happened then, must have been all of his fault . . .

Snape was placing spells in their primary vicinity though, and it was not likely that he had heard his question anyway. His friends looked just as confused as he did.

"I don't know, mate," said Ron. "I don't think that he'd be meeting us up here though, for some reason. I don't feel like tea over a roaring ocean is exactly his type, if you know what I mean?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "How do you know he drinks tea Ron?" He thought that must have come out inadvertently, for even she looked a little bit surprised. He started laughing. An overwhelming sense of relief was coursing through him, but it was not certain that they were entirely safe.

"I should go see if he needs any help," he said. The potions master was moving around their circle so rapidly that he had qualms about offering any assistance, but when he straightened at one point, Harry stepped forward. However, that dangerous wand went up in a mad frenzy, and he quickly stepped away again- he could now hear Snape saying an incantation in a lilting tone above the cantankerous hollering wind-bowl, an intense look of concentration upon his face. His black hair whipped about him madly, and on his gaunt features a gleam of whatever it was that composed Severus Snape was displayed, his lips moving faster than he would have thought possible. He knew then, that this truly was not a man to be crossed. The winds died down upon completion of the abstract spell, and he no longer felt the nail-biting chill. Snape paused for a moment, and his eyes caught Harry's.

"Step away, Potter," he hissed. "There is nothing you can do to help." Harry waved his hands in a helpless gesture, feeling rather annoyed. "Fine," he huffed, and then went back to join his friends at the center of the silent arc that Snape had created. He flicked his wand several more times. Hermione was watching his movements intently, and, maybe it was only his imagination, but Harry thought that he saw a look of fleeting annoyance on her features as well, but for another reason- he nearly laughed out loud. It was her true spirit, a spirit like no one else could ever imitate, that caused her to watch her professor with a spark of slight envy, greed, and pique as he was performing magic that she had yet to accomplish. He felt, for a moment, truly endeared by it. Then the moment vanished away in the wake of Snape's billowing clothing as he stepped in front of them once again.

"The grounds are secure for the moment," he told them in a low tone, which could not have been heard before he had stilled the wind in this enclosed circle. "We will camp here for the next few days, until we are in a position to leave this area." Harry's eyes darted around them- in every direction miles and miles of plain, grassy terrain stretched over slight mounds that created an undulating effect- somewhat like Seraphina the snake. Far into the distance though, past the grasses, he could see the edges of woodlands in certain places, though they by no means surrounded them.

"Where are we?" he asked, drawing his arms around himself for a reason that he could not quite understand. Snape did not answer him for a moment. His eyes were fashioned upon an imaginary spot above Harry's head.

"This is called Terrece Creation. It is a muggle location just outside of a city known as Rosedales." Ron's mouth fell open. "Close your mouth Weasely," Snape snapped at him. "It makes you look like a fish on land walloping about unbecomingly," he sneered. Ron closed it, abruptly.

"You brought us to a muggle location, Professor?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Yes Ms. Granger," said Snape, but, he did not offer her any more information. Harry wondered whether or not the fact that he had brought them here was due to background that stemmed from his past, but he knew better than to ask him. Snape did not seem as though he was in one of his best moods, and for that he could not blame him, in the slightest. He thought back to the incident in the cavern, and then shook it away again quickly- it caused an incomprehensible feeling of foreboding. He didn't like it. There was some, strange, eerie shadow plaguing his brain, and he had the distinct feeling that he was missing something important, something which, he did not know if he wanted to understand completely.

"What do you want us to do?" he asked. Snape reached into his pocket and drew out a small brown bag that was tied with a piece of thin rope. He opened it and pulled out a miniature item that they could not see, but which he spelled a minute later with his wand. Almost instantaneously, a rolled up tent appeared before them.

"You are from a muggle background, Ms. Granger," he said, sneeringly. "I am sure that you are more than equipped with the knowledge to figure out how to put this tent together for all of us." Hermione shot him a look of slight annoyance, but then she quickly bent down to pull apart the attachments holding the pale green colored sheet of canvas together, allowing it to spread itself out like a butterfly emerging.

"Harry, you take that end," she instructed. "Ron, you take the one over there." As he went over to help, he saw that Snape was taking some more items out of his bag and waving complicated spells over them. Before long, chairs and other necessary pieces of muggle equipment than he would never have in his life imagined that Snape would be able to remove on a short notice were being pulled from the small sack, but then, perhaps now would not be the best time to think about such a detail. The worst part about all of this was, that he could not question what the ominous feeling that threatened to eat him to his very bones was . . .

"Do you think he actually has a plan?" Ron whispered to the two of them. His red freckles were standing out in such a stark contrast against his pale skin that it made Harry wonder exactly why his friend was so nervous, save for the obvious quick escape. Did he have the same deathly omen knocking about in his mind as Harry did? Or was he merely underneath the effects still, of Lord Voldemort's attempt to sneak into his head?

"Harry?" He shook his head.

"I have no idea, Ron. Why don't you ask him?"

"I'm sure he has planned this out as much as he could have," Hermione snapped at both of them, as she finished placing stakes into the ground, and the tent spiraled into a fine, pointed triangle in the air above them finally. "I mean, it isn't as though he could have foreseen the prior events, now, is it?"

"Of course not," Harry said huffily. "I know he couldn't have foreseen anything. We just-"

"When you were at Odgen's place, Harry, could you have foreseen that Mr. Malfoy would show up? Or any of these events? Honestly, I don't know how you two can be so selfish. It isn't as though the Order isn't doing everything that it can to ensure everyone's safety. Ron's whole family is fighting. And poor Professor McGonagall herself was captured, due to her services. And you- "

"Hermione, wait," Harry protested weakly, "That- that isn't what I meant."

"Yeah, slow down, Hermione," said Ron. "We were just saying that we hoped he had a plan." He looked a little bereft. He seemed to be as put off by her reaction as Harry was. . . nevertheless, she stalked toward the flaps of the tent and went promptly inside, completely ignoring anything that either of them were about to say.

"Brilliant," Harry muttered, now starting to get angry himself. The tension outside of the tent seemed to be growing with every mint that passed, although he was not quite sure from where it had originated. Snape was watching them coolly from his standpoint, which was a few yards to the left of the tent, where he had just finished putting the rest of the items in order.

"You will be needing these," was all he said to them, before gracefully sitting down into one of the wooden chairs. Harry swore under his breath.

"What was that, Potter?"

"Nothing!"

"Watch it, mate," Ron whispered to him.

"Yeah . . . right," he said, hollowly. Now that they were safely out of the dark cavernous wet abode which they had been using as a safety hideout after leaving Odgen's place, they were stuck out her in the middle of nowhere upon a deserted- hopefully deserted- flat of grasslands above an unknown sea, right beyond the perimeters of a town comprised wholly of muggles. If they were for any reason scouted out through the greedy noses of the Dark Lord's followers than they had the potential to bring the entire war into the middle of this place- he gritted his teeth. This seemingly couldn't get any worse. To top it off, they had none of the necessary accommodations for a proper living arrangement save for this tent, and the few chairs that the potions master had miraculously pulled from his dark, wrinkled pockets . . . Harry wondered how long he had been wearing the same t-shirt and jeans for. Probably two or three days. How long had they been in the cave? He couldn't even remember. And then, that desperately crawling, threatening surge of claw-like guilt, washing over his soul in waves of black scythes and claws of ravenous animals was always bubbling up, threatening in a slow crawl to overtake him- suddenly Harry felt so utterly hopeless. He dropped his head into his arms and sighed.

"Stop it Potter," Snape snapped at him, sounding extremely mutinous. He clamped his mouth tightly shut. Hermione was probably right . . . he was being selfish . . . and much of this was his fault. He stood up from where he had been crouching beside the tent, and wandered aimlessly towards Snape- slightly aware that Ron was looking at him as though he were mad. Snape's jaw was set and his black hair was falling around his face, hiding his expression once again. His ability to remain rigidly controlled in his posture for long periods of time amazed him. The white skin wrapping his bony frame, that which was visible, was more- translucent than ever.

"When will Professor Dumbledore be coming back?" He asked quietly. There was some type of serene, thin yet magnetic rod that was prompting him closer to Snape, and forcing him to direct this question towards him. He watched him slowly pull back his oily strands of hair, that looked as though they had not been washed in days, and answer him in a remotely detached tone,

"I will send the headmaster a Patronus to inform him of the fact that the Dark Lord has taken over his present hiding place, and that we are temporarily residing here." Harry nodded, but he did not leave Snape's side. The potions master looked up- and he thought that a trace of doubt flashed briefly across his fiery black orbs, but maybe he had imagined it- his face looked to be as cool as ever. He shrugged, nonchalantly. "Okay." The heavy feeling was so great, at this point, that it felt like an anchor. There was a silence.

"What is it, Potter?" he finally asked him in a low tone of voice. Harry scratched the back of his head, embarrassed, and tried to quickly come up with an answer to that question that would not give away his true intentions. Finally he asked, in a strangled voice,

"Can I get you a cup of tea?"


	2. The Fury of Toxic Danger

**A/N: A special thanks to _hazeldragon_ for her review on Chapter One and constant support. If you are interested in this story readers, I would appreciate a kind word here and then in the review box, no matter what kind of constructive feedback it might happen to be- if you are writers with similar interests to mine, I might take a look at your story in turn if I have adequate time at my hands, and will provide everyone with credit at the start of each chapter who reviewed the last. I will be sure to consider any suggestions you may have, too. And now onto the latest piece. **

**{Disclaimer: The originals belong to JKR}**

_**Reminders:**_

**No slash story**

**Use of the Red Magic described in the original story.**

* * *

**Chapter 2-**

_**The Fury of Toxic Dangers ~**_

There was no way on this bloody and soiled Earth that found itself betwixt the war of light and darkness that they would ever lay down and rest, but Harry already knew this, and he had no other reason to attempt to learn it again save for the cold, and deadly omen. That omen which hung over his soul day and night always taught him another meaning, another way in which he could re-invent the idea that there would never be a place of rest for any of them, and as he watched the figure glide in front of him in the arc of a whispery shadow that hung upon the night's crosses, it became more clear than anyone could have ever imagined. There was a symbol of the total and unquestionable absence of mercy here, and everywhere they turned- it was a cross of the imprint of such things, the hardships that they would forever bear, perhaps, which overlooked the Potion Master's stride, for, here he went, back, and forth in front of it, turning about beneath the silent moon. Harry almost regretted asking whether he could be of assistance in keeping watch. He observed Snape's taut form as he guarded their tiny living arrangement. He shifted his legs uneasily, for it seemed that the taskmaster he had made himself out to be was waning with the moon, and he began to grow tired of his manner of resting in this way. Neither of them had said anything for hours.

Snape paced back and forth without stopping, and he had been doing this for hours, inasmuch as that he began to look like a black wand quietly, and hauntingly being waved in front of him. Harry did not want to watch the professor anymore, for he was no longer what one would consider to be the material of a particular pretty vision . . . well, 'pretty,' that was truly, a relative term . . .

"Sir?" his voice meandered over to him like a wing upon a chilly winter's night, even though it was not winter- "may I take over? The watch, I mean. I'm starting to get dizzy watching you pace back and forth in front of me."As quickly as a lighting flash or a dark cobra strikes its victim, Snape spun around to face him in a mad dash of relentless anger.

"And what would you suggest, Potter?" he spat through clenched teeth that sunk into a cloth of raging white lips, while he bit his mouth and spittle flew out of his face simultaneously- Harry could not help but shrink back a little. Snape's face stilled again, to form into a wolf-like, crumpled sneer that made him feel faintly disgusted. "I believe that you are of the same opinion that the rest of us share concerning the relative safety of our camp?" Snape paused. "Or are you feeling yourself equivalent to the ripe and raw task of thwarting any visitors that happen our way, as well as defending us, singlehandedly?" He looked completely revolted by the sight of him- Harry had to admit, that he hadn't really thought this through so thoroughly.

"And, in addition, I assume that you would- " he stepped in closer to Harry, his black and white features looming at him through the pale light of the moon, "find yourself ready to deal with . . . some of the most ghastly, murdering _ex-periences_- raw venom." He spun back around, quickly, leaving Harry somewhat befuddled. Raw venom? Whatever did that, mean?

"No," he said, a little bit puzzled. "I am just tired of watching you pace back and forth. Anyway, I thought that you might want to, you know, rest for a bit," he added, with a furtive additive to his original line.

"How fascinating," he replied sardonically. Harry rubbed his left knee unconsciously. His pant-let was becoming rather holey, he noticed. Well, the jeans had been shrunk to twice their original size via muggle methods, since he'd needed to resort to washing them religiously after Dudley gave him his hand me downs.

"You should drink a cup of tea, really. It's healthy for you." Snape swiveled around again, but he thought that he saw a trace of surprise ruffle across his features- ruffle was relative. Severus Snape wasn't that type of a person, not, by far-

"Pleasurable, Potter."

"What?"

"I already drank the damnable cup of tea that you offered!" he spat at him, with some amount of abruptness it appeared, and then he swung back around murderously, although Harry now felt a light smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You did?"

"It was a passable hot toddy that I'm never going to forget, you imbecilic child." He blinked owlishly at him . . . well . . . that was good, wasn't it? The stress lines that carved the deep gashes in the Potions Master's face were sullen and scarred, like as though they had been there . . . his whole life. Harry felt a pang of some sort of- well, he didn't know what it was- but he didn't like the effects that it had upon him. Things were extremely difficult for the runny mess that they created. He felt himself burning.

"What is it Potter?" There was a glow somewhere in the distance. The sun was slowly rising behind their small erected canvas house. Hermione would be taking the next shift soon. They needed to find Professor Dumbledore, though, for to Harry's pique and his fear, he had not returned.

"Where is everyone?" he asked Snape shrilly. "Where is Professor Dumbledore, and Lord Voldemort's- his clan!" he spat, angrily. He noticed the shimmer of something in the distance, but what exactly was wavering out of the gloom he could not fathom, nor did he care to pinpoint in the middle of this discussion- this was far more important, while yet Snape's face was like an angry fire.

"You- will- calm yourself, this instant Potter, or I will be certain to-"

An angry, burning semblance . . .

The shadow was becoming cleaner, a stronger and clearer semblance. It awashed the area in a blinding bright light, no longer a mud-wall, but a burning bush, that swept forth upon them.

Snape threw his arms up, and several other events fell into rapid succession. Hermione and Ron started yelling for some reason, though why they ran out of their safety arrangement to meet whatever highly destructive entity had come upon all of them with the suddenness of an arc-angel, flying magnifice-

Then, just as the Potions Master stepped in front of his person in order to shield him with his endless voluptuous dark embroidery work that he always wore, Harry exclaimed,

"Professor Dumbledore!" The Potions Master quickly stepped away from him. "Albus," he hissed, his voice venomous. Albus Dumbledore brushed himself off, walking over the small patch of frozen grass with his magenta robes gaily and sporadically milling about, gadding on a lovely, sunshiny day as he surveyed them all over his half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes crackling with the electricity of an ice-berg, flying through the sea . . .

"Lovely day, everyone." Hermione and Ron, holding onto each other in a gesture that appeared to be unconscious, for her snaking arm abruptly fell to the side after this was recognized, while he whistled in the other direction, stared at him in astonishment- well, Ron's jaw dropped, but then, Harry could understand . . . Snape merely stared at the headmaster a bit coolly.

"It always behooves you, to . . . make an entrance," he said in a tone that was slightly clipped. "And it is not daylight yet headmaster, in case you haven't yet noticed, but considering your highly keen sense of observational qualities, I highly doubt this to be the case." The headmaster chuckled lightly. "I simply enjoy an early morning, Severus. It is close to the time of sun-rising." He pointed into the distance. Then he looked around now happily, at all of them- a mellowed version of happiness in the heat of the- no- the frigidity of the night, which, for some reason, he seemed to have warmed . . .

"That, dear Harry," he said, catching his eye in a manner that seemed quite by accident, "was an enchantment that I have been, well, shall we say, overly eager to use for quite some time, but due to the methodical forces of everyday living, such an entrance never seemed to . . . quite fit the moment. Ah." He glanced about himself. "This seems to be the perfect time. I think that my assumptions were correct. Don't you agree, Severus?" Harry found that he did not have the heart to look Snape in the face for some reason . . . the two Hogwarts professors were fixing each other with a piercing stare that reminded him of a half-lighted beam of light snaking through the forestry in the middle of the night in the Forbidden forest, because everything about their gaze was forbidden, yet it was a source of light and of strength for, even though it was an oddity . . . their x-ray vision was truly, very similar.

"Of course, Headmaster." He sounded cool and detached. The headmaster, however, merely clapped his hands together lightly, but they fell to his purplishly garish sides without their usual attempt at merriment.

"Excellent," he said. His voice was rather quiet. Harry began to shift towards the direction of his friends. As he came upon the opening to the tent, Hermione grabbed his arm with her claw-like, pincers-

"It's alright," he muttered, patting her arm absently. Ron chuckled weakly. "He likes to make an entrance, doesn't he?"

"That's what he just said, I think, Ron." He gave a weak laugh. Hermione looked between the two of them. "Oh, honestly," she huffed, loosening her hold on him a little bit. He had to admit to himself that Professor Dumbledore was a sight for sore eyes, as strange as it might be to behold him in this particular form.

"You have chosen an excellent destination, Severus, and I must congratulate you on your exceptional preparedness on such a short notice." His voice had fallen a few octaves lower, but, Snape merely ran one of his bramble-like fingers across his chin lightly, saying nothing. Then he gave a slight, treble sounding cough, in a warbling fashion- he turned away from the headmaster, and took to glaring at the three of them.

"Is there a reason why you are all standing here listening to us?" he snarled. Hermione's eyes widened slightly. Harry gritted his teeth at this.

"I think that, considering the circumstances _Severus,_ we have a right to be involved in this discussion." Professor Dumbledore held up a hand. "I think they are quite right, Severus," he said mildly- if he took note of Harry's name change directed towards Snape he did not give any indication. Snape did not observe it either, to Harry's slight surprise- but he crossed his arms tightly over his chest.

"Now then," Dumbledore continued, "I think that, under the circumstances, it will be suiting for all of us, to put everything into perspective so that none of us have any questions or concerns, about our current predicament. Let us therefore, like the old proverbial adage says, join together in a bond of sheer innocence, and gladly bear, our fortunes." Then the headmaster sat promptly down upon the frozen grass in a cross-legged position. Harry, wondering vaguely if he'd created that official proverb himself, and thinking that they may yet find it underneath his picture within a tantalizing chocolate frog on a freight car one day, glanced at his friends, and, when Ron gave a noncommittal shrug, the three of them joined Professor Dumbledore on the ground. The headmaster clapped his hands together lightly.

"Excellent, excellent." He glanced up at Snape. "Severus?" Growling underneath his breath, Snape sat down as well, seeming to take particular caution to seat himself a few feet away from Harry and his friends, and several inches behind Dumbledore. The headmaster took out his wand once they were settled. He waved it above them in a high arc, which movement flung a ring of fire over their circle of the color blue, and heated up the small area with a magical electricity- Harry could not help but to think that the flame had a direct link to the wizard casting the spell in some way, as though an imprint of Albus Dumbledore himself had enveloped all of them, although why, exactly he thought this, he could not say . . .

Apparently however, one among those sitting around him recognized the magic that he was performing, even though it meant nothing to him, because Snape all but gasped,

"Albus." His face had lost some of the little color that it had, but the headmaster simply ignored him as he kept his eyes fastened upon the loping, abounding arc of light which flew around and between the four of them . . . like a solid stream of visions that were now evolving . . . Harry placed his hands upon his knees tightly, albeit in an unconscious manner. He watched the figures which slowly morphed out of the flow, which were building up into the shadows of people, although none of whom he recognized. Professor Dumbledore continued to hold his wand a lot with a steady hand, his eyes oddly, the excited color of the fire that he had conjured of this stream of what Harry assumed to be memories. Yet he could not make any sense out of it, nor, he noticed, did the people tend to possess any sense of direction in their wandering. Five of them now walked above them in a solidified circle, but he could not do, could not move, speak, or anything pertaining to his person- his mind left him. This was not because of what was happening above him, but across from him. Professor Dumbledore now turned toward Snape, and all signs of evident cheerfulness had left his face, and not a trace of gentility remained.

"Severus? You know what we must do." Harry didn't know what made him do it, but suddenly his senses came back to him. As Snape's face grew even whiter in order to compliment his widening eyes, he cried out,

"What is going to happen?"

"Shut up, Potter," his said in a muted voice, barely above a whisper. Then he gave the headmaster a perfunctory nod, which seemed to him, more like a jerk-the lank hair swayed forth over his long, black eyelashes. However, Harry now made the connection like a crackling shot. The blue was a part of Dumbledore's memories, but there was another piece in this strange, ominous yet still, eerily shadowy, equation- out from Dumbledore's wand another stream was now flowing, but this one was a deep, velvety maroon color, and looked almost black, inasmuch that it danced around the other fire string in a furious, and a strikingly foreboding manner . . .

Snape's memories were now becoming entwined around Dumbledore's. Harry did not know why this was necessary, did not want to ask for what purpose the headmaster had decided to place their past upon display for his friends and him, but a sickening feeling churned upward, within his gut, making him clutch his stomach lightly. For how long the past would be observed . . . such a personal store for the Potions Master- and then Harry knew that it could not be borne, so, as his fists caused his hands feel the strain worthy of bloody markings- he did not check to see if he was bleeding- he then took a step forward. Ron gave a muffled cry at his action, and Hermione called a warning of some sort, but it was Dumbledore's voice, which rang through the commotion like a shot, and the blasting bell with dire warning like a striking cobra, which stopped him.

"Don't move, Harry! The three of you will stay where you are until this demonstration is finished, or else you will jeopardize everything that the Order has been working to accomplish." Swallowing the bile congealing in his throat, Harry went back to his place beside Ron, and, yielding to the slight pressure of Ron's hand at his side, allowed him to be tugged back down onto the flattened meadow of sea grasses. The black rope swung around them in a much more furious and purposeful manner by its nature than the blue ring. Harry and his two friends exchanged furtive looks as they automatically drew closer. The air was now scalding them, but Harry paid no attention to it. He could do nothing, except to sit where he was and to take hold of his inner emotions through Occlumency, as difficult as that was. A chill trembled through him in spite of the environment, as the first demon from Seers Snape's past flew into the air, or rather, stately walked out of the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand in order to join the others, even though the rings were distinctly separate tracks of cloudy-pigmented fury. It was a tall man with a large, hooked nose . . .

Beside him, he heard Ron gasp, and Hermione placed a hand over her mouth. The newest figure was unmistakable: Snape's father. He regally walked among the crowd of unknowns with little emotion in his face- in fact, it was as though he were being propelled by the wand that was unquestionably directing his movements . . . they were merely puppets then, with no abilities or inner capabilities that was distinctly theirs. Across from them, Snape had clamped his jaw together so tightly that it seemed to have a linked effect upon the rest of his features, for above his temple, a purple vein was throbbing sickeningly against the white skin, but nevertheless, Harry was slightly calmer now. Dumbledore himself looked quite serene once again.

"Excellent," the headmaster said softly. "That is what I had hoped for. It is just as we had wished, Severus. It seems that fortune is on our side in this instance."

"Yes, Headmaster," Snape answered dully. With another wand-wave, the two rings of fire vanished. The air molecules around them however, still swarmed about them with a heat that nearly made Harry place his hands up to his arms in order to rub he pin-prickling energy away from him . . . he raised a hand to his forehead and nervously smoothed down the hair that hung into his eyes by this time, since he had not cut it in months, and knew of no particular spell which could be used. Before he could put them back down, the air around them had become a dense cloud of nothing, which none of them could decipher in that moment. Hermione's brows were furrowed. Snape simply maintained a dour expression. The slap of Dumbledore's hands brought everyone back to the present. Ron looked at the headmaster with an expression that suited his gangly manner, as his jaw dropped and he gaped like a fish out of the sea. Professor Dumbledore said benignly,

"I see that you are all portraying the natural reactions of those who have been surprised by an element that is considered to be out of ordinary, and I assure you that such a reaction is natural, but I must ask that you do not question me further about the matter, at least for the moment. Your questions will not receive answers unfortunately, for I do not have the ability to provide them to you three at this particular time," he stated cryptically. Not one of them had any iota of understanding of this statement, so Harry merely nodded his head, unsure of what exactly the headmaster was referring to. They found themselves unable to answer him in this particular instance, mostly due to the fact that they had no understanding of what the headmaster was actually telling them, even though Harry . . . was becoming slowly frozen up, although the ominous feeling which arose and kept growing he truly could not understand either. Yet the creature was potent and ghastly, inasmuch as that he experienced a slight feeling of insecure illness- like his body was being affected, or perhaps his mind, in a way that- addled with his senses. Like he was losing his hold on reality . . . he fervently hoped that Voldemort was not trying to break into his mind once more. Strange that he could not recognize the signs so easily, by now . . .

"Capital," Dumbledore said, in a tone that was somewhat of a paradox to the actual word he used. "Allow me then, if you will, Ms. Granger-" At the mention of her name, Hermione looked up of course- "To view the accommodations, if you will. Might you be willing to show an old gentleman wizard around the tent set-up?"

"Of- of course," Hermione said, appearing slightly shocked. Ron nudged her in the ribs, and she nodded, so that the both of them concurred to show Dumbledore the place- strange though that rather small idea was, since it was after all, a tiny arrangement as well as- well, the notion just didn't seem that large, either. Harry shook his head in consternation. For some reason he was feeling extremely befuddled. He watched Snape now, through narrowed eyelids that remained unobtrusive, but the silent Potions Master paid him no mind. For a change, he seemed to be lost within his own mind, as though he were looking back through a frame of time that no one could be privy to save for him- his arms were wrapped tightly about him as though he were shadowing his secrets from the eyes of the greater human livelihood, and Harry could not imagine for every iota of his own life what could be hidden in his past.

"Sir?" he said, eventually. His dark eyes flickered over to him, lighted up by a swirling, torrid yet.

"What is it, Potter?" he asked him in a lowered tone. Harry thought he heard something of a spark in it, but it remained, for now, an enigma-

"Did you know what was going to happen?" he asked him in a whisper. Snape's eyes drew into slits, but he did not answer him. They were directly a few yards across from each other, a few paces away from the tent. It had become very difficult to see without the assistance of light from a wand. He could scarcely even make out the Potions Master's expression.

"It wasn't- it wasn't what you expected, sir, was it?" This was not said as a question, however, but rather as a mere statement. He did not think that the Potions Master would reply, but a few moments later, he hissed, his voice barely discernible through the black of night,

"No." He sounded very tight. Harry shook his head minutely to him, though he didn't really understand the reason.

"Si- Severus." He heard a withdrawn breath that vaguely resembled air being sucked through some kind of a dark hole in the atmosphere- and it was, but not the type that one would think to be a part of the atmosphere itself, but Severus Snape, and, to his great surprise, that entity itself did not rebel against his used term.

"What?" In fact, was it even possible? His voice sounded a little bit softer. Harry took a step closer to squeeze some of their space together. "Why did Professor Dumbledore do that? Why was he forced to use your memories?" Snape's arms withdrew slowly from their affixed cross, and the voluptuous robes fell down at his sides. His face was still indiscernible.

"It was necessary, in the headmaster's opinion . . . " his voice trailed off once more into the night. Harry continued to pierce him with a penetrating gaze. A sudden dawning brought him to attention. "It had something to do with his need to manipulate the Red Magic that the Vol- " Snape spun around with a twist that resembled a tornado- it was like a whip lashing across his line of vision.

"Do not speak his name!" he hissed out, his voice spitting strife and fire, and- if he was not much mistaken, he thought he heard a small stirring of fear in his tone, which really threw him aback.

"Why not?" he asked shakily. Snape's breathing was harsh and labored, but the silence between the two of them stretched onward. He pursed his lips into a jacket of white . . .

"You have not forgotten our latest trials, which forced us from our former abode and into this position!" he snapped, ending on en emphasized exclamation of dangerous anger rather than a question. Harry reached back into his mind for the implications of that statement for several moments, until he remembered- Lucius Malfoy, and that had been the time at which they'd left Odgen's place. Something had brought him to the house . . . he had said Voldemort's name several times there, and perhaps the name was truly cursed. A sickening feeling of sudden guilt churned his stomach.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't know." Of course, Harry had suspected that this had something to do with the matter, but merely suspected, and that did not suffice . . . what exactly was he to do now? "It's all my fault."

"Enough of that!" The Potions Master snapped at him. "This will not benefit us in any manner, Potter."

"Harry," he muttered, brushing his hair away from his forehead. "Why is that so difficult?" Snape looked down at his wand, which he was twirling methodically through his long fingers. He wondered vaguely if they helped in his potions making- then he shook his head. That certainly wouldn't be any type of excuse . . .

"Pot- Harry," He looked up with a slight smile at this strange emission, and he noticed that the Potions Master's eyes were closed, as though speaking his name itself gave him a bad taste. But he could hear him breathing rather roughly, and he did not want to antagonize his better nature, when it did show its peak, no matter where it may be found . . . even through a name that tasted sour to him, for some reason. He wanted to allow him the space that he could provide the Potions Master when the others were not around, for Merlin knew that he needed it . . . Harry stepped away. He grimaced though, when Snape casted a _lumos_ to light up the air in a glowing white arc, while he waved his wand about them both, because the shadows it cast across them made him think of white skeletons. He knew that something was not quite right.

"Sir . . . "

"Potter," he said in a dip, as though he were sipping from a straw that his teeth were biting and he had to force-feed Harry the words. "The headmaster does not feel it necessary to- ah- give to this group of Order members the proper warning, but- "

"I knew there was something," he said in a rush." He glanced furtively towards the tent, which was now drenched with the forms of slippery shadows-

"He knows where here, doesn't he? The Dark Lord? I've felt it all day. Something's off- "

"What have you felt, Harry?" he asked brusquely, not paying any heed, apparently, to the iteration of his name, because the flare was suddenly directly in Harry's face, and the half-lighted moon sliver, combined with the wand flare, generated a demonic light that played across Snape's face, as he stepped closer to him. His eyes were alighted with a dancing spark that meanly smote the air between them. Harry gauged his reaction for a moment. Then, mentally nodding to himself, he said,

"I believe that he is trying to break into my head." There was a pause-

"Really," Snape said at last, sardonically. "Then what, may I ask, is troubling you Potter?"

"Harry," he replied absentmindedly.

_"Harry,"_ Snape said in a warning tone. He looked up at Snape. His lips quirked. Snape did not say anything. He looked, if it was even possible, even more furious at his own slip.

"It's something worse than what I usually experience. I don't know how to describe it exactly. It just feels- well- like an impending death being held over me. I can sense that he is near to us." Snape drew himself taller, pulling his robes closely around his wraith-form, and said brusquely,

"The spell that you just experienced was a special one which the headmaster has created. It, with the combined work of my potion, is meant to fend the Dark Lord away from us, but because of its contradictory nature, it may well have the opposite affects than he intends," Snape said softly, emphasizing the last word in that sentence. He paused. The voices coming from the tent were growing louder. Snape sensed this immediately, and subtly removed his black boot from the proximity of it, turning on a pivotal stance in order to cleanly cut to the side of the tent behind the entrance flaps, and, as though on cue, Harry followed him silently. He flipped his stalwart thin figure around, sensing that Harry had followed. Harry sucked in an unconscious breath.

_"Nox,"_ Snape hissed, extinguishing the light from his wand. Now only a sliver of moonlight drew itself gracefully across their darkened forms. Harry waited for him to speak. Snape was staring in another direction entirely, his black orbs fashioned upon the roaring sea which could now, barely be heard, far into the distance. When he spoke though, his voice was as sharp as a scythe, and it cut through to Harry's core.

"I believe that the Dark Lord is able to trace our movements due to his connection with you, Pot- Harry." The wind in Harry's lungs suddenly left him. He stood stoically, inanimate, and definitely rooted to the ground, as though he had been spelled into a block of glacier that had become stuck upon the land above its original home at sea. "The spell which he used several minutes ago honed imprints borne from several drops of our respective flow of blood, in order to recreate segments of our authentic livelihoods, or, more specifically, that from our past." Harry's brows furrowed in consternation. He could not imagine what that actually meant.

"It means, Potter," he said in a low, searching tone, almost as though he were penetrating the thoughts swirling in Harry's head without even looking at him, "that the Dark Lord, who is already connected with you yourself, may be able to forms mental connections with the headmaster and I as well, if he is able to gain access to any form of Red Magic. The implications of that however, would be much worse. I believe that the headmaster has not actually recreated mere memories of our past, but that he had re-invented segments of our souls." The blood in Harry's veins now froze along with his body.

"But- if he finds us- " he said almost shrilly, his voice rising against his will, "through my connection- " But here Snape held up a hand. He eyes traveled, nearly unwittingly it seemed, up to Harry's forehead. "From what you have told me . . . it is highly possible, I think, that he has already found it." Harry did not know what all of this meant exactly, but it could be nothing that was in any manner savory. For probably the first time that he had ever known him, fear was a factor in Snape's face, and this, more than anything else, told him that the danger around them was much worse than they could ever have suspected.

They could only wait until morning.


	3. Tears of Cruelty

_**A/N: A special thank you to **__**hazeldragon**__** for her reviews ~**_

_**To anyone reading this: I would truly appreciate your input if this has captured your fancy, because I don't tend to get many responses to my stories, and because they are directed towards you, I always like knowing something about my audience and their preferences. You never know when one of your ideas might crop up in the text that appears in the next update, after all . . . **_

_**More of the mystery of Dumbledore's strange spell to be explained soon- the characters need a bit of relief at this time.**_

_**SM ~**_

**{Disclaimer: The originals are not mine}**

* * *

_**Chapter 3-**_

_**Tears of Cruelty ~**_

They waited until the morning, but Harry himself could not tell that any time at all had passed, because time was so dizzying, so dripping and honeyingly sweet, like a sap. But it was an enigma. Always, an enigma. That was what he would never be able to understand. Lord Voldemort wished for the discovery of Harry and Snape more than anything else, but Harry was just so tired now by everything that continued to waft through his sordid mind, giving him a headache- always a headache. It did not seem as though he could any longer live without one. And when he wanted to reach out and touch time because it became so thick, so dizzying and infiltrating, he could not, because it would disappear. And in spite of the fact that he knew that he and Snape were more wanted than any other wizards in the universe by the megalomaniac wizard that had come back from near a death that had been only at ninety percent, back into a human form, he could not make himself care, yet again. All that he wanted to do at that particular moment in fact, was to sit exactly where he was, outside of the backside of the tent in the chilly air of a bite-filled, merciless morning, staring out at the vast sea which he could barely discern from this viewpoint. He was completely unconscious of the man who stood beside him.

"You are never one to take proper care of your being, are you, Potter?" Snape sneered. "Explain to me why it is that you find yourself sitting out here on this cold morning," he said snidely, "for if I am not much mistaken, you do not cotton much to activities detrimental to your precious self." Although he was nearly bitten to the bone by the mongering, persistent and frivolous air that twined its way about him mercilessly, as though it were merely a heartless and therefore, ominously merciless force of nature, Harry could not help but to be slightly affected by Snape's words. When he spoke though, his voice was cold, just as was everything.

"I told you," he murmured, his voice now tinged with a freezing bite as it wafted over the ocean at its largest, grandest scheme, which somehow drew its waves, up to the Heavens, carrying the ice that Harry's voice had given to it, and then launching back into a wave building gargantuan, voracious land of its own deep blue. For an unfathomable reason, the roaring blue seemed to be mocking his inner thoughts. Yet he could not explain this strange connection that drew him to the water. His mind was now beautifully spinning at this point, and he felt slightly sick. The fierceness of the black robes moved beside him, with a precise calculation of eerie thought behind each flutter of that profound coloring. They rushed down before his eyes, bending, and feeling, filled with torrid, black, life. It was impossible to explain the horror that was being built up inside his system, and the rush of adrenaline that clogged his throat, making him wish that he could move behind the large tree that he could see, for in the distance, or perhaps merely bow his head in an arc, in order to shield his eyes from the jaded sepulcher wafted in and out of the wind in front of him. Slowly he forced his eyes to close gently over the frightening image of merciless cunning- some dendrites in his head were crackling in various directions. He couldn't see anything anyway.

There was something pinching him like a vice . . . and evil spurted from the rapid cretin that was wrapping itself around him with more fervor and vivacity than a flirtatious woman who easily batted her eyelashes at a handsome man . . . it was moving into his veins with pure evil madness that dripped into every open ventricle, a terrible inhuman demon that acted mad, invoked the black spangled beauty of a night, smiling like the hanging stars as it slowly bled him to death . . . the monstrous enemy moved so quickly that he could not make himself move away. There was nowhere in which he could run though, for this was a devil that had filled him up and would not leave-

"Potter!" Someone was calling his name from a distance, making Harry resurface from whatever had been siphoning his life's blood from him, and he now opened his eyes, his breathing harsh, fighting for the light that he could see through a sliver that his lidded eyes allowed him, blinking slowly as Snape's face came into his view. A movement of soft black brushed against his white pallid face out of the gloom, tickling the air gently, making Harry's eyes water with some kind of instant relief, which flooded his system and made him tremble subtly, not engaging any part of his mental faculties save for the beautiful recognition that was coursing through him.

"Snape!" He cried out, his voice sounding rather hoarse. To his surprise, although it was barely registering through the thickness in his brain, the Potions Master lifted his lips to the slightest extent, though it was rendered more like a twitch. However, he swept down upon his knees in front of Harry and scrutinized him carefully now. His eyes were narrowed almost to slits. Harry merely continued to shiver as his world swam back into hazy familiarity, although he did not want to think that it was a part of his everyday life, because the immense frigid cold was almost overbearing, the wild and untamed sea voracious and deadly.

"It's awful cold here," he said, hollowly. He heard Snape whisper something indiscernible, and he felt a rush of air around him, complimented thereafter by the brushing of a cape near to his feet. In another second he realized that his body was starting to heat up on its own.

"Thanks," he muttered. Snape stood up again, continuing to meticulously analyze him, unnerving him slightly.

"You were told to occlude, Potter," he said, brusquely. "Is there any particular reason that might possibly explain your continual inability to obey my instructions? Some self-preservation skill set, perhaps that you harbor?" He sounded cynical to only a minute degree. Harry shook his head, knowing with every mental faculty he possessed that Snape was correct. Yet there was naught that he could do about this angst, this persistent force that seemed unwilling to give up to him any freedom. As Harry watched Snape, he started to remember why he had originally walked out here on the cold this morning. He felt a connection between them that he didn't really understand, and it was undeniably Snape who had maintained him through his experiences at Odgen's House . . . he began to wish that he could re-live some of them, just to capture that- something.

"Snape, I wanted to ask you a question," he said in a low murmur, almost as though he did not trust himself to speak what was spiraling around in his lips, being pulled from them now treacherously-

"What?" He sounded cool and collected. Harry let his breath out through a long whoosh, not really wanting to ask him the question, yet he could not stop the nonsensical words that were now starting to pour from his lips, feeling lost to his own thoughts and inner feelings.

"I came out here this morning because my thoughts drove me out to this- cold icebox, and hours before this, it felt like the wind was carrying snow upon it." Silence followed this strange enumeration which Harry did not thoroughly anticipate, and he wondered why, vaguely, he'd led on to virtually nothing. Snape simply observed him coolly, not making even the faintest movement as Harry's words trailed off into the black-iced air, which was steadily beginning to grow into a steely shade of grey, and to become nourished as the first seed of a blossoming morning, the sun reminding him of a pod. Harry shook his head.

"I wondered about my mother," he said, swallowing over the hard lump that had now turned, like a ball of some kind, within his throat- a heavy shuffle caused him to look back up, away from his thoughts, shooting in various directions and impossible to put into categories.

"Sssssssss." Harry thought that he was hearing Nagini's sweet syrupy voice packed with a sickening venom that was driving him to a place and time which he didn't want to imagine himself in, until the Potions Master's eerily familiar tone drove that idea to the other, poisonous time.

"How dare you speak of your mother to me." He placed his arms over his black clad chest like some odd, burgeoning illusion, bearing down over him softly, gently almost . . . yet he knew this to be a lie in front of him. A flicker in his eyes meant more than his words could have. Harry swallowed thickly.

"It's just that- well, I can't help but to wonder what she would have thought of all this- you know, whether she would have approved of what the Order is engaging in, because sometimes it seems to me that the hunt for Red Magic is focused entirely upon the murder of- erm- _him,_ and if her original intention was to force his downfall rather than to give you something that she cherished, well, then perhaps . . . I wonder . . . maybe this all would have made more sense." For some reason, the thought of Lily Evans giving Snape a locket out of a deep-seated friendship that turned its magic against him incidentally, seemed quite undignified, and very shallow . . .

Snape however, could not seem to make his mind ricochet off of this thought, into some kind of comprehensible one that would form into a tangible meaning, because of the obscure nature that materialized as . . . suddenly everything had become a bleak, quiet fog, and he lost everything, or rather, it closed itself away from him automatically. He cleared his throat with the deliberation of a person that was immediately plagued by all dark forms of everything in the magical world, and was struggling to fight all of the forces away from his being.

"Sir- Severus? Are you alright?" Harry asked tentatively, in a quieter tone, watching Snape, whose eyes were now heavily lidded as they turned, with his head, toward the sea, so that he could watch over the glaciers flushing up and down, puffing up like white clouds during certain moments, drifting away in a haphazard fashion. The wind combing through the rage-filled streaks of silence broke through the moment.

"I- never really thought that your mother assumed my connection to her in any form other than sheer friendship. She- " He paused. The fury of the wind raced through his whipping hair, and seemed to take the words straight from his lips. Harry allowed his gaze to rove gently to the side of the whipping robes.

"I never gave any reason for her to view me in a manner that did not directly coincide with friendship," he repeated, the words falling against Harry as though they wanted to imbibe some of his warmth, for that was how cold, and hollow they seemed. He stared down at his knees, fixating his gaze upon a tear that crested the joint at the top. He realized that the Potions Master was now standing directly in front of him, and he could feel his black gaze penetrating his own face. He looked back up. The words died on Snape's lips, even if the white line of his mouth thinned severely, and trembled a bit.

"There would not have been any reason for her to spellbind the locket," he said, his tone low. Harry rubbed his cold hands together. Even though the warming charm kept away the majority of the weather, he was not able to break free of the feeling completely as it attempted to suffocate, and to squeeze him, its fingers wafting through his brain without his permission. Then, without knowing the reason for its appearance in his mind, he somehow understood, suddenly, what Snape was feeling, and while he did not want to give up his comfortable position next to the tent, and to extricate himself from comfort, most likely forever, after he spoke what he next wanted to, he knew he had to try to reach him. He stood up, still trembling for some reason. Snape seemed, for the moment, to be unaware of his presence.

"My mum's actions didn't have anything to do with you." Slowly, with an air of something that was placing forth a barrier to the action, he turned to look at Harry. He blinked several times. His lips were numb-looking, as though their stretched, white scorpion appearance was more due to a chord that was choking him so tightly inside that it pulled on the very fibers that composed his lips.

"That is not a conclusion that you could ever make based upon pure fact, Potter," he told him, his tongue darting out to wet his lips for a flickering instant, as though they had lost some of their moisture. Harry took a deep breath, and steeled himself. He shook his head.

"I know that my mum and you were very good friends." Suddenly his own throat went very dry, and he had to force himself to continue. "She placed that particular spell upon the locket in order to help to maintain your well-being- to keep you safe," he finished. For some reason, that had been very hard for him to say. He thrust his hands into his pockets in a nonchalant manner, now allowing his eyes to grace over the ocean. A few seagulls were scattered about the air directly above the water . . . it was as though they were searching for something that wasn't there, because two or three of them kept swooping down upon it, just allowing their feet to touch, ducking their heads . . . and continued searching. Yet, there was no food to be found. He looked back at Snape. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, the cold air, which, oddly enough, neither of them could actually feel, whipping his hair about his pallid features, making the demon in him more pronounced. Harry noticed that his hands were at his sides, and balled tightly into fists. He placed one foot in front of the other, and when he was directly in front of Severus, he just stood there, staring into his face openly. Snape swallowed. He opened his eyes again. The marvelous onyx orbs, that could cut fire with the amount of steel they had the capacity to hold, were now glinting at him oddly.

"I know that- Pot- I mean, Har- " He closed his eyes again, almost as though he was unable to iterate what it was that he wanted to. Harry lifted up a hand, and rested it, carelessly on his shoulder, as though it belonged there. He didn't know exactly what he should say to him, but somehow he found that he really didn't have to think about it. Severus Snape had loved his mother. He accepted that fact, and he knew that the depth of what he felt was heavier than anyone else had ever known, that he had kept this secret to himself longer than anyone ever should have, and the guilt that was inside of him was probably too much for anyone to bear.

"It's alright," he found himself saying simply, in a softened tone. "It's alright." Beneath his hand, the thin shoulder started to shake. He clamped it more tightly, and watched as the Potions Master's face furrowed from the forehead down to his chin all at once, as though the chord inside of him was being ripped apart with brutal force, and he took on a look of misery that might have been wrought throughout the course of two hundred years. "She was trying to protect you, Severus." He found that his own eyes . . . were a little wet for some reason . . . "it had nothing to do with you. There is no reason for you to feel any guilt." Tears were now pouring in two steady streams down his face, as if they had started leaking without his knowledge, on the spur of the moment. Harry did not look away from him. He simply continued to stand there, patting his shoulder in an unobtrusive manner. Snape greedily gulped at the air, his fingers clawing the open around them as though trying to seek solace from something that did not exist. Harry caught both of his hands into his, and proceeded to lower the both of them gently to the ground. Swiftly, without making the fact known to anyone save for himself, he flicked his wand to erect both a silencing charm and an invisible charm.

He allowed his body to fold in two on itself, as he bent in the same position as Snape, placing his right hand to the center of his back, rubbing his hand up and down although barely touching him, all the while struggling to keep him from clawing at the air in a manner that resembled a dying man attempting to force his way out of the depths of hell by some miracle. He grasped the scrambling fingers, and then he gasped, as suddenly all of his efforts went to a useless measure when the bony fingers found their purchase around Harry's torso, closing around him. To his astonishment, Snape's arms were shaking rigorously, with a vast measure of force and apparent effort. He heard him babbling some nonsense in between the gulps of air that he was taking in, which was drifting out at him in a completely obscure fashion. He could not make hide nor hair out of Snape's words, but, as he clung to him, Harry did not have to question any of it. He just did not allow himself to move as the black head came down in a heavy arc upon his shoulder, and stayed there heaving up and down with his body.

He gritted his teeth and looked up at the sky. Morning would be bright with the dazzling sun, and it would have to wait- for now. He squeezed his own eyes closed now, trying to block out the pain that was so potent he himself wanted to break down sobbing, like the man who was now pouring the grief of so many years into the wet spot on his shoulder. Harry drew the bony frame closer to him, feeling almost physically sick at the moment, trying to wrap his mind around the ugly hand of unfairness, which, like a person scouring a mountain of sharply jutting rocks, had forced this. He glanced down at the man sorrowfully. He could not tell him that everything would be alright. But, at least he could give one truth to him.

"It's not yours to bear alone anymore." Almost imperceptibly, the clinging hands dug into him harder. "At least now I can share it with you." And as Severus Snape's sobs finally began to subside, after what seemed to be hours after they had begun, it dawned upon them a drab morning.


	4. Seeking More Than Truth

**A special thanks to **_**hazeldragon**_

**A/N: Please review! It always helps to spur the fickle creative muse =) Let me know what your likes and dislikes are, confusing concepts, whatever. I do recommend reading **_**To Give it Time,**_** of course, before reading this piece. **

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_**SM ~**_

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**Chapter 4-**

_**Seeking More Than the Truth ~**_

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While seeking the truth is often very difficult to find, even for the best wizards, the time is not so uncommon when the dark secrets in our hearts find pleasure in even the most telltale thumping of madness. The madness makes it burn with an emotional pumping that seems to be without cause, yet we suffer it because it makes us feel human, in some strange way. The parts of the human soul that are hidden make themselves finally known again, through this simple ventricle- it is here, at last, in which we can finally speak to the demons which have incinerated our breast, lain dormant for longer than most of us would dare to hope for- would ever wish to hope for, if in fact that quality was sought out through ruthful force and struggle. But, when the heart finally becomes it's absolute, finer quality self, takes on that characteristic which becomes it at its quality best, and, in the discovery, finally connects itself to what it really is . . .

Harry sometimes felt as though he were tugging upon his own interior image through a window, trying to grasp at some instinct, or some kind of carelessly falling particle of himself that somehow slipped beneath a darkened shadow. However, when he did at last discover where that ventricle of truth lay hidden in his body, and examined it carefully, he could not retreat, and was caught in vice . . . filled with a torrent of emotion that he could not control. Sometimes, it seemed as though he was seeking sheer madness, simply because the rage forced him to feel a natural facet of being human. Although he did not want to admit it to anyone, perhaps . . . perhaps he sought Voldemort's visions, at times, because they forced Snape to offer him his assistance to overcome them.

Admittedly this did not sound rational. However, he was decidedly correct in his assumption that Snape had steered his emotional state, and his mind, back to a working facet, a living spirit. He knew that he would have gone insane without question, had the familiar sense not been present for him. While undergoing the horrors of Voldemort's prodigious cunning, his slicing of Harry's sense of reality through manipulative brutality- Snape provided an anchor for him that he was bereft of at other times. He found the dark, caustic voice to be a source of solace. He remembered that he was still a part of life and was brought back into his own body, the living, authentic form that composed Harry Potter. He no longer felt as if he was a puppet, so much, or a card to be played, but a complex version of himself that still maintained human emotion. However cruel and however copious the time he spent locked in what seemed to be Voldemort's pent up cacophony for his play toys, he could hear Snape's voice forcing its way into his brain, tearing apart the pain, and forcing it to fall away . . . his throat felt tight. He felt disgusted. Why was it that he always felt as though he were zipped up lately, like an overly tight pair of pants?

He now sat outside of the tent once again, in the chilly air of the morning, warily observing the faint activity that he could just barely detect through the flaps. Over the last few days, the headmaster had delegated various assignments to the group, many of which took place during the treacherous art of the thick night. Working in the day was more dire and dangerous, it would seem. This played unkind games with their sleep cycle, of course, but Harry found, interestingly enough, that he did not mind sleeping during the daylight hours. He was enjoying the way that the air breezed through his hair this morning, throwing speckles of moisture onto his face, giving him a feeling of irreverent rapture.

He could not help but to notice that there were a few shadows caressing the tent from the outside that he had never seen from this perspective. He had sat in this same place for so many mornings that he practically knew each crease and fold of this part of the tent mentally. He looked up, noticing the telltale dark robes before he saw Snape's face, scouring through the other side of the clearing in his usual stalk. He was moving in the direction of the walking route that the headmaster had plotted. He did not immediately make known his presence, opting to scrutinize his actions from a distance. When he came in Harry's plain sight however, he paused for a split second, meeting his gaze. One of his eyebrows rose delicately. Then without waiting for an answer to the unspoken question, he abruptly pivoted and went the way of the next course, which interconnected with that one.

Harry sighed. He had been feeling a bit more virile of late, which was in itself an amazing feat considering his odd, constantly destructive connection with Voldemort. Today he was extremely bereft. The sounds wafting out from within the tent began to irritate him. He was contemplating giving up his post, shaving off the last hour that he was meant to be stationed at the tent, when he heard a commotion inside that made him pause in the standing process, and consequently fall back to the hard earth when a heavy thrust knocked him over.

"How dare you, Ronald!" Hermione cried, her voice strained and sharp. Harry was immediately on his guard.

"Oh, hey there, mate," Ron grunted, as though just seeing Harry and immensely brightened by his prospect, although, he could not help but to notice that his best friend looked rather pale. His freckles stood out in stark contrast to the white.

"What happened?" he asked. Hermione ignored him. Her hair fell in wild, sweaty hoops around her face, which was tinged with pink that indicated a possible crying episode. She looked like a fiery hen that had lost all of her chicks and was desperate to get them back. He was slightly unnerved. Ron had backed up to the side of the tent, beside Harry, attempting to cower away from Hermione. He opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could emit a sound, another voice hissed, in a much silkier manner instead,

"What have we here? Tut, tut. Not taking care to ensure the safety and well being of our- ahhhh, esteemed cause? I'm sure that the headmaster will be most_ aggrieved_ to note how meticulous you are in following his instructions. Where is he now? Ahhh, yes. I believe that he has taken a small nap, due to his tireless efforts in working to defeat the Dark Lord now for many months," Snape enumerated with a foxiness that made him seem almost marked. Hermione and Ron shrunk back. Harry on the other hand, merely observed him guardedly as he stepped out from his destined path and into the soft light hovering over them, almost as though it was about to be whisked away by a darkness that would creep into their midst, even though it was yet dawning day. He appeared to be in a fouler mood than usual this morning. Hermione did not seem to be daunted by his presence, though. In fact, unless Harry was much mistaken, he saw the line between her furrowed eyebrows fade a little when she looked up at Professor Snape.

"We can't follow Professor Dumbledore's instructions anymore, Professor, because Ron allowed the _Obliquus Potion_ to become overheated," she said in a voice that was only a suppressed shake. Harry was not actually sure whether the tears that she was clearly hiding were wrought from pain or fury- more than likely both. Snape now turned his long, overgrown nose toward Ron, who by now looked as though he wanted to sink into the canvas behind him and allow it to swallow him, and promptly.

"Is what she says true?" he asked, in a tone of frigid quiet, that caused Harry to still, like a rabbit caught between a hunter's steel trap. He suddenly felt quite cold . . .

"I- I- " Ron appeared to be choking over his own words. His face was a testimony in itself to her statement. Snape took a step forward, and then stopped short. His shadowed silhouette became ignited with an anger which suddenly suffused the white skin, causing the taught, his taut, sallow face to gleam like a scorched pearl, the darkness of the morning fading away through the strength of his fury. Even Harry swallowed nervously. His heart began to sink. Although he did not know much about the functions of the _Obliquus Potion_ because Dumbledore had not entrusted the information to anyone save for Ron and Hermione, they had worked tirelessly- especially Hermione- on accumulating the necessary ingredients for brewing throughout the week, constantly refining it and tailoring it to the headmaster's specifications.

"Do you- have any idea what you have done?" he demanded in a low hiss, his hair falling around his face, as his arms, Harry noticed, moved downward with a surreptitious movement, making him desperately hope that he wasn't seeking his wand. "The potion which in your careless arrogance you destroyed was an exceedingly rare and invaluable counterpart to one which I have not only been delicately honing for several months, but also an _irreplacable_ weapon against the cause of the Dark Lord." Ron took a jerky step backward, making some kind of strangled noise, while the shadows beneath Hermione's eyes swam starkly into view before him. As Harry looked between the two, he could only think to himself that there was now a reason for Snape's fury that chilled him to the very bone, the reality becoming a fierce demon in his blood that Snape's anger could never have manifested.

"You have- " A sudden cry rent the air. And then, a split second before anyone else saw it, Harry noticed Snape's hand moving toward his wand pocket. He stumbled forth, yelling out to Snape on instinct.

"Severus- no!" and threw himself between Ron and the Potions Master. Just at that moment, though, their exchange was interrupted by a benign, and yet somehow honeying, sweet, slippery voice coming out of the mouth of the headmaster.

"Lovely day out, isn't it? Too much so, perhaps, for any unnecessary altercations, I would think?" His accentuated eyebrow poignantly indicated the four of them. Professor Dumbledore was wearing long, lemon-meringue colored inlaid with complicated designs of bright, graceful, loping sunflowers. Harry was not quite so sure that Snape caught the irony Dumbledore presented though. His wand was still raised in a wide arc over Harry's head, pointed directly at Ron's chalk-white face. But, as the headmaster stepped closer to them, his well-established gait appeared to bring Snape back to his senses. He flipped his wand back into his pocket, and then, without another word, stalked rapidly in the direction of the forest. The voluptuous black robes billowed out behind him haughtily, as Harry muttered quietly,

"I'm going after him." Ignoring the others, he followed in Snape's wake, desperately willing away the voices trailing after him. His efforts were having a rather sorrowful effect, however. Dumbledore's quiet questioning was blissfully swept away into the air, the further along he went, for he was now encroaching upon the edge of the clearing, near the beginning of the lush, wild pine trees that seemed to stretch into eternity. He allowed himself to tempt the looming glades, placing one foot forward as though waiting for this beautiful greenery to push him back into the empty space. They swayed back and forth within thick shadows that seemed to mock him. At that point, he heard a slight bristling derived from something that was not part of the forest, which caused him to turn in the other direction. He immediately spotted the telltale dark robes, which nearly blended in with the scenery to an indistinguishable view. Slowly he inched along the edge of the forest a few paces, and nearly ran into Snape as he moved out into the clearing once again.

"Potter." He voice was no longer laced with fury. It sounded cool and distanced from the life around him, and, he thought, if steel could talk, then his words were well endowed. Harry could not help moving his hands into his pockets unconsciously, staring out blankly at the expanse of trees, although not really seeing them. He saw the white hand within its dense, heavy garland of black clench and unclench a couple of times beside him. He sucked in a deep breath, absorbing every detail of the bleak forest, and then turning towards the potions master's rigid back. Harry did not wish to break the solitude, or its bleak spirit, for an unidentifiable reason.

"What is it that you require?" Snape hissed to him in a frozen, almost, Harry thought curiously, faint tone. Snape turned his head sharply, the piercing, cold glint in his black eyes shining as a dangerous, calculating scythe that was just waiting to slice through him. Harry held back, lingering upon the spot, riveted, unmoving, still.

"I know that you were working on that potion for eons," he started, hesitantly, "but, well, maybe Ron hasn't actually destroyed the content," he murmured, observing his own fingertips revolve slowly around the twig in front of him, not saying anything else as listened for a response. He thought that he heard Snape draw in a rapid breath, but he wasn't sure if he was only imagining it. Finally, after what seemed to be an age, he responded lowly,

"What makes you say that?" Harry bit his lip. Then he said fervently, feeling somehow choked,

"Well," he took a deep breath. "I remember Hermione saying something to the effect of- the potions were made from extracted qualities, the same ones which are needed to counteract horcruxes."

"What, exactly, is it that you are trying to say, Potter?" He asked the question slowly, his voice laced by a subtle sarcasm that was practically nonexistent, which caused Harry to avert his gaze uncertainly.

"I was just wondering whether we might be able to use the extraction itself," he asked, now slowing down his own words, not wanting to give the impression that he understood more than he actually did. He lowered his head to the side, his eyes brushing over a few, extremely fascinating twigs that glittered in the dew of the morning, uncharacteristically examining the detail of their bark in its detail. He felt agonized, and truly pitiful.

"You are completely fooled by your notions Potter," Snape said softly, in a double-edged, cryptic, light manner of speaking that made Harry look up at him quickly, watching his eyes darkening, his hair falling down over his shadowed temples.

"But the potion- I'm not pretending that I know anything about it, mind you, other than what Hermione's slipped in now and then, and it wasn't much, granted- I do know that it is used as a counterpart to the Dark Lord's immortality. Doesn't that mean that some of the qualities of the potion need to include that component? Perhaps we could use the raw ingredients themselves as a protection?" he suggested, making a rather pathetic attempt not to sound too hopeful, as his words died off, flatly into the cool air around them. Snape's mouth thinned into a stretched into a tight white line.

"You do not understand the technicalities of the potion, Potter- "

"Harry," he interrupted him. "And, no, I admit that I don't." To his immense surprise, Snape cocked his head to him slightly, acknowledging the admission. His long hair fell to the side, masking his expression, while he slipped his hands into his pockets almost shiftily, turning slightly away. He then lifted his hair back enough to allow a sliver of his face to show. His eyes were fastened upon a particularly large and bristly, mean set of burs that laced themselves in a figurative eight around a bramble, in an almost ladylike fashion. There was a silence that lasted for about two minutes.

"There is a possibility that some of the ingredients have effects that will be retained in their original configurations," he said slowly, and Harry almost imperceptibly breathed a small sigh of what he supposed was relief, "although most of the compositions are made up of intricate patterns that would be almost impossible to test before actual use." His words were precisely weaving around Harry's notion, which felt now somehow, jerky, and uneducated. He couldn't help but to feel a small tinge of shame. His tongue darted across his mouth as he lowered his eyes to the tree leaves in front of him, which glared at him through cruel, black shadows.

"Well, I didn't assume that it would be of any use," he muttered, feeling angry for a reason that he did not completely understand. He felt something gently glaze his shoulder, although he didn't pay it much mind.

"Po- Harry, your thoughts were not without foundation," he said in such a deep, sunken tone of voice, that Harry barely heard the statement, as it whooshed by him into the trees. He stared vacantly into the distance for a moment, not knowing how to respond to this, yet desperately wanting to express gratitude- yet this did however, seem to be without a foundation somehow He smiled lightly at Severus, feeling something hard clench in his stomach, gazing everywhere into his surroundings, not wanting to look him in the face. Snape began to move in a waif-like fashion into the distance, and then, seeming to think better of his movements, he paused, about two steps away. He looked like a rippling demon in the faint light.

"The potion which I had constructed, and brewed meticulously for several weeks, was a counterpart to the one which your _friends,"_ Snape spat, his ire provoking, flaying and as fiery as a demon, yet somehow, his face seemed to deflate momentarily, "destroyed." Harry swallowed a lump.

"Does that mean that our efforts were all for nothing?" He couldn't stop himself from asking. "That- that the concoction cannot be brewed again?" Snape drew in a breath that instantly turned into a hiss. He was glaring at something imaginary that Harry could not see, far into the distance, his rock-hard hands now as white as a sheet.

"The Dark Lord and his minions have been increasing their own efforts, Potter," he paused. Harry was engulfed by a feeling of foreboding that threatened to eat him from his head down to his feet, which he dug into the grass more deeply. "It is almost certain that they will not only grace us with their presence, but that the headmaster's brilliant plan has been thwarted," he said the last part with a sardonic tinge in his tone, ripping through every small hope that Harry had ever held onto. Snape sighed lowly, uncharacteristically, allowing his hands to go momentarily lax, a movement carrying a certain amount of disquiet. The glades offered a quiet picture but comforting environment with an easy manner, dead and desolate though the area seemed. For some reason, it was not unnerving to him, and contradictory though this may have been, it stretched itself around Harry, soothing his fraught, and by this time frayed to thinning, nerves.

"It has been a trying and unremarkable misfortune, Potter." Harry had no clue as to what he meant by this statement, but he thought it would be prudent not to walk on the side of what had so far been better luck He leaned against the tree behind him in a casual way, allowing his body to mold into the graceful curve of the old pine without response.

"They can't see us from here," he said finally, feeling the need, for some reason, to offer some kind of reassurance to Snape, as comically ironic as that would seem . . .

"It was more than Lily's locket that catapulted into this catastrophe," Snape said in melodious, low tones, causing Harry to raise his head. His voice had flattened out like a type of dough bread that had melted- Harry had never heard him speak like this before, but he did his utmost best to rule his astonishment away from being displayed upon his features. He jerked his head minutely, as though casting away a fly that had landed on it. Everything that had occurred over the past few weeks was hanging over him like a heavy bag that he wanted to punch, which was just out of Harry's groping reach. Nonetheless, his mouth turned downward into a repulsed sort of line, and for a moment, he stood there merely thinking, it seemed to Harry. He didn't realize that he was unconsciously holding in his breath until Snape started to speak again.

"At sixteen, I joined the Dark Lord's ranks, clueless as to the dangers that awaited greater society." He did not have to say his next few words, but when they were past his lips, Harry felt a chill run through him that had nothing to do with the weather at that moment. "The alleged reasons could not be put into any sort of language. Your mother- had known of the bonds that I was forming with those that were within the Dark Lord's circle, although I provided no verbal proof to her of those suspicions. She could not have anticipated however, what the power of the locket she had given to me had the capacity to do. Even I did not fully realize the implications of transferring my loyalties to the Dark Lord, but I took the risk, and I kept the locket rather than magically connect it with someone else, though I had no grounding upon which- " His body seemed to sag, almost imperceptibly, underneath that voluptuous black garment that always swathed his lank, surly form. A shadowed light fell between the canopy that the trees created, making Snape looked like some lost demon in the early morning sun. Harry had never realized how pale he really was before now.

"Severus?" The words that fell from his lips somehow seemed natural, slipping out without thought. His black eyes darted toward his left, while he leaned against another tree, without seeming to put any weight onto it.

"I never meant for her to put that locket- " He stopped, the words never forming. Harry did not realize until then that his own hands were clenched, for he took them out of his pockets to give himself something to look at.

"I'm sure that my mum knew what she was doing when she gave the locket to you," he said in a rush, which sounded like immature blurting to him- inwardly he cringed. "And she would have wanted you to realize that you couldn't- that is to say erm, well, there is no reason for you to feel as though you should have known. You couldn't foresee the future," he said simply, shrugging. Snape leveled him with a darkened gaze for a split-second, before turning his head away.

"No matter what conceptions you have about your mother Harry, she was an exceptionally bright witch, and she understood who I was, and the risks that were involved in being a friend to me."

"Then she would have known what she was doing," he answered him, this time sounding firm. He lifted his arm in the shadowy gleam of the faint, weak light of the morning. He pulled down the sleeve of his robe and Harry winced unconsciously. The cross and black skull were eerily speckling the air, and then, just as quickly, he pulled the heavy-looking dark fabric back down to his wrist.

"I cannot enumerate what may have occurred, had she lived, but I have an idea of how our relationship might have ensued, and I understand precisely her reasons," he said in a low tone, ending on a hiss. He looked very angry. He could not say exactly why his tone had just changed altogether, or why Snape had gone rigid.

"The Dark Lord has an extremely limited understanding of why his servants decide to put their lives underneath his power. Lily understood why I had joined his ranks, although she would not attest to that fact. I was not raised to know anything except- " his voice wavered dangerously for a moment, and his face become unresponsive, and, for a second, void. Harry felt his heart began to race a little faster, and an indefinable something grew hard within his chest.

"My father did not teach me to know anything except his natural inclinations." His hands were clenched so tightly at his sides now that they began to shake precariously, causing Harry to be afraid, a feeling, which he could not analyze right then. Yet, he merely looked on into the space of nothing, so that he could not decipher exactly what Snape was thinking, although, he had to admit to himself that he probably did not want to know.

"You are a different person." Harry averted his eyes, not knowing what else he could say, feeling the rock lodged in his stomach grow with an odd magic.

"Yes," Snape agreed, lifting his head up into the air a fraction. "But that is not the point, nor will it ever be." Harry opened his mouth to reply, but then abruptly closed it. He couldn't imagine what Snape's life had been like growing up, nor was there any apparent consolation that could be offered. But the way that he spoke gave him new insights into his character, his stoic, roughened and many times crass manner that he had never seen, and he could not help but to feel a pull, a strange- connection. Snape's past was very similar, it would seem, to his own in many ways, although neither of them had ever noticed the tie before. Had anyone told him about it during his first class that he endured under Snape's sneering face he would never have believed them. He pulled his arms up around himself, touched by the biting chill of the air around them, and closed his eyes.

"Your past and mine- well, they aren't so different," he said in a lowered tone as well, his words fading away like piano notes, and lighter than Snape's, while gravity tugged him into a place where he didn't want to be . . . "when I lived with the Dursleys, I spent most of my time buried in my room, pretending that I didn't exist," he mumbled, trying not to allow shame to creep into his tone. He didn't know what was compelling him to tell Snape about his past, but for some reason he could not seem to stop himself from spouting further details about his abhorrent childhood, as if they were rising from a well inside of him that needed attention. He hated the feeling. "I wasn't really a part of their family," he said roughly, "at least, not in the literal sense. They had no pictures of me, or- or belongings of mine in the rest of the house, and when visitors came over I'd stay locked in my room the whole time," Harry stopped speaking, merely glaring down at his fingers. Then he shrugged almost nonchalantly, his eyes slits in the dark. "It's not as if it mattered, after a bit, but, it would have been nice to be acknowledged once in awhile." The air carried a deep sigh, and it was a minute before he realized that Snape had actually breathed it. He looked up confusedly.

"It is without any question that if your mother had known about it . . . " Harry just kicked a bramble to his side, but he felt no stirring of anger, strangely enough. A twig snapped in the distance, followed by the call of a bird. Harry wondered why he could not keep his mind focused upon what was in front of him. If the ground beneath him had been carved into a window, he still would not be able to decipher why his past scorched him beneath this cold grass.

"Doesn't matter now, does it?" he mumbled, averting his eyes. There was a beat of silence-

"We should be getting back. The others will be wondering what happened to us," he muttered. Snape lifted a thin finger and rubbed upon his temple with a light pressure.

"Severus," he said hollowly, straightening his back in a defensive measure as the name poured out of him, though not knowing why- "It doesn't matter. If the potions are damaged, then this is not your fight." Snape steeped his hands in front of him, and for a minute, Harry was not sure he actually heard him. His face was void and blank once more, as he stared out at the wide expanse of trees, with a look of what could only be described as pure nothing upon his face.

"I'm sorry," he croaked out, in a near whisper, suddenly urged by the thin ripple of black that served as an oblique wall of some type, before him. He was the epitome of impenetrable. "But it isn't your fault." Snape gave him an eerie look, his mouth quirking up at the corner. He cocked his head toward him, in an ironic gesture.

"Oh, but isn't it?" he said on a low-tongued hiss, and then, without another word to, he swept back into the circle of Harry's friends, drawing his cloak around himself in a gesture very similar to that of the Severus Snape who had intimidated every student in the Hogwarts castle, for fifteen years of his life. For some reason, Harry suddenly felt extremely heavy, as though the world's gravity had sucked itself into his single chest, becoming his.

* * *

**_Until we meet again. Press the- ahem- you know . . . =)_**

**_Until we meet again =)_**


End file.
